


Time lost, time found

by CountlessStars



Category: The Hobbit RPF
Genre: First Meeting, Gen, M/M, also depression, kind of, that's about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 21:42:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CountlessStars/pseuds/CountlessStars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is going through some tough times. He meets Aidan. (More like "Aidan throws himself into Dean's life.) That's basically the whole story!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time lost, time found

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything in months and today it hit me really hard. So I did this little thing. Just a really stupid meaningless drabble but I told my self I'd publish it anyway, no matter how bad it was.  
> I know, no one cares about my rambling. So, enjoy the story. Maybe. I don't know. Do as you wish. (And forgive any formating problems, I've written it on my phone. And I'm extremely tired.) Thank you for reading!

All the leaves above Dean's head were yellow. It was supposed to be a joyful colour. Dean had read it somewhere. _In an architecture magazine...or was it a flyer from Tesco?_

It was getting dark quickly. Too quickly to his taste. The clouds seemed to fall lower and lower with every passing minute. He looked at his watch, the one he got from his mother for his thirty-sixth birthday. He hated that watch. 

He also hated the bench he was sitting on, the trees in that awful park, the weather, the coat he had to wear because of it and pretty much everything else in his life. But right now, he hated the watch the most. He got up and tore it of his wrist furiously, scratching himself badly on the metal clasp. Cursing, he threw the watch away. It landed in the nearby pond with a ridiculously loud splash.

It didn't make him feel better at all.

A few raindrops fell behind the collar of his grey coat and only confirmed his decision to hide from rain in a place where he could get some coffee.

***

The place he found had exactly one advantage. It was cheap. As a once-published-in-a-local-newspaper photographer, Dean could not allow being very picky. 

Finding himself a place to sit wasn't exactly hard - the café was empty apart from a blonde woman with glasses sitting by the bar. He tried to peel off his coat, but the water made it five times heavier than usual and also functionned as an incredibly powerful glue. In the middle of his struggle came a man that looked more like an escaped prisonner than a waiter. 

"What can I get you, laddie?" he roared and it took Dean almost a minute to understand what the question was. Then it took him another moment to mumble, "Black coffee," while still trying to get out of his coat. 

The coffee was almost boiling and served in a chipped mug. Dean was glad the first sip burned his tongue and gave him an excuse not to drink the coffee again. If it wasn't for the rain and the prisonner-looking man, he would have left without paying. Instead, he pushed the cup away and looked around him.

Frowning, he scanned the dirty wooden floor with cigarette burns here and there. A trail of wet footprints lead to his chair in the corner and apparently, bothered no one. The walls were empty but for a few faded stains and an especially ugly painting of three bearded men. Dean hypnotised it for a long time until the figures on the canvas seemed to move. He shivered and looked away. 

With an automatic motion, he pulled his sleeve up and looked on his empty wrist. _Of course._ Miniature beads of dried blood formed around the scratch and Dean decided to remove them. The only result was more bleeding and a dirty sleeve as Dean searched his pockets for a paper tissue he didn't have. He closed his eyes and took a few shaky breaths meant to calm himself. Resting his forehead against his folded arms, he thought about the watch, the park, his last birthday, the watch, the goddamned rain, his family, the distance, the wasted time, his only photography that ever made it to the public, the watch, his gloomy one-room appartment that smelled of mould, the watch, _the fucking watch_... 

"Hey man, mind if I sit here?"

Dean jolted awake from his half-sleep. He lost any idea of passing time. It was now completely black outside the stained window. But Dean's attention was captured by the dark-haired man that miraculously appeared and was now staring at him with a smirk that was oddly familiar. Dean looked around at all the empty tables. Even the blonde woman was gone now.

"Uh, I...uh...sorry, but...do we know each other?" managed Dean after a few seconds of confusion.

"Well, not yet. But that's what people do, right? Meet new people and get to know them, I mean." The stranger wrinkled his nose and then smiled brightly.

Dean frowned. "Well, I suppose they do, but-"

"That accent, where are you from? Not from 'round here, that's for sure."

"Actually, I'm from New Ze-"

"New Zealand? Amazing? I love Lord of the Rings! Don't you? Aragorn is one of my...wait!" Dean didn't even had the time to take a breath before the stranger continued his monologue. "I didn't even introduce myself. Aidan, at your service. That's how they say it in the books, right? And what's your name? Let me guess, something like...David. Or Jason."

"I'm Dean, but I don't-"

"Hey, that's a nice name. Like Dean Moriarty. Have you read that? Kerouac's On the Road, I mean. One of my favourite-"

"Hey!" Dean didn't even realise he yelled it until he saw the surprised look on the waiter's face across the room. The guy opposite him, however, didn't look suprised at all. With a slightly bemused expression he turned and said, chuckling, "Everything's alright, Graham. We're just having a bit of a discussion about books. Could you bring me a beer?" Turning back to face Dean, he added, "Now, you wanna say something?"

Dean sighed. Scratching his wrist unconsciously, he spoke. "I just...you come here and start talking to me like we're the best of friends but, God, we don't know each other! And I don't even wanna know you because I'm having a bad day and didn't it even occur to you that not everyone wants to get to know other people? Maybe I don't like people, right? I came here alone and I didn't bother anyone and that's the way I want it to stay. I am alone and I don't bother anyone. Maybe you should try it sometimes. Sure, it starts to suck after a while and you get ignored and you have no friends or family but then it's too late and you're too far gone to get it all back. But that's just the way it is. Better remember that and try to live with it."

There was a long moment of silence. The waiter, Graham, brought the beer but it went unnoticed. Dean gazed at his wrist, slowly realising what he said. He felt Aidan staring at him.

They both spoke at the same time, then stopped again. Another long moment passed before Dean gulped loudly and muttered, "I don't know why I said that. It doesn't matter. Can you leave me alone, please?"

"No way, man. Eh, Dean. We gotta talk 'bout that. You need to get-"

Dean interrupted him, "I don't wanna talk about anything. Not with you. Not with anyone." 

Aidan tilted his head. "Just let me say that, okay? You're...what, thirty-six? And-"

"Woah, I'm not thirty-six! Thirty-two." Dean tried to say it coldly, but he had to admit it sounded too desperate even to his own ears. 

Aidan chuckled. "The last time I've heard that tone was in a bar where an eighteen year old girl was trying to convince me she was _really, seriously_ twenty-five. So don't try, sweetie. Lies won't make you any younger." He emphasized his words with a grin and a gentle nudge directed to Dean's knee. It felt strangely soothing and confusing at the same time. "Let me finish, okay? You're _only_ thirty-six and for some reason you seem to have given up on life. I don't know why you have, but you shouldn't. Midlife crisis won't solve any of your problems. Trust me."

"Why would I do that? No offence, but you..."

"Don't look like I've ever experienced a crisis?" Aidan finished. He then flashed a strangely cold smile and folding his hands beneath the table he said, "I did. And now I know there are much better things to do."

Dean stayed silent.

"So I guess I'll leave you now, unless you wanna talk about...let's say...Doctor Who?" Aidan looked at him, an eyebrow raised, his mouth curved in a smile that said nothing. His eyes were full of unsaid things that made Dean feel nervous, vulnerable and... _comfortable_.

He still felt incredibly alone. He doubted that would ever change. Still, he found himself smiling a smile that felt almost natural.

"Yeah. Right. Doctor Who."


End file.
